Category: New house

Nothin’ happier than a sleeping Sugs.

* * * If you were wondering where the holy hell Jenn I Am has gone, you can find her here. jenniam.com is defunct, so update your links, yo. * * * Regarding ghost theories, have you thought that maybe the ghosties are just protesting that the mirror was affixed with double-sided tape? The malevolent beings used their psychic powers to cause it to fall! Oh sure, leave it up to us to have ghosts who disapprove of shoddily-made medicine cabinets, instead of cool ghosts who’d, say, take over our bodies and make us sing and dance around. * * * You had mentioned in an entry a few months back about taking a pill for your facial hair. Did it help? I am interested in your experience before I try it. It wasn’t a pill, it was an ointment – Vaniqa. And no, it didn’t work for me, though it’s possible it might work for you! (It’s kind of pricy, though) * * * when are you getting internet over at the smallville house? It depends on when Fred and the spud move over there – at this point, Fred’s thinking it’ll be the end of April or very beginning of May, so it’ll be a few more weeks at least. * * * We’ve also always bought the buyers a home warranty and frankly I just thought it was standard procedure. Next time I might not be so nice, thanks to you. I had never actually heard of a home warranty before, and I don’t really even know what it is – Google will help me out with that in a few minutes – which is why I was resistant. As long as we’re not required to do anything difficult, I won’t resent the buyers for requesting one. * * * Do you still wonder whether Mr FancyPants will ever come home and does it bother you that you might not be there if he comes back one day? Actually, I think Mr Fancypants is too busy flying around the world to ever be bothered to come home. Seriously though, yeah – I do worry that he’ll show up home and we won’t be there to greet him. I do intend to say something to the buyers when we close at the end of May – “If a fluffy black cat prances across the yard, goes upstairs and shits on the carpet, could you give us a call?” – but to be honest, I think he’s gone for good. I prefer to think that he’s found a new home with a family that properly adores him, but at the time he disappeared, we were having an issue in the area with coyotes, so that might just be a pipe dream on my part. * * * (Seen on LJ) 1. Where is your cell phone? Table. 2. Describe your boyfriend/girlfriend/S.O.? Worrywart. 3. Your hair? Helmet. 4. Your mother? Miserable. 5. Your father? Sweetheart. 6. Your favorite item? Numerous. 7. Your dream last night? Weeding. 8. Your favorite drink? Water. 9. Your dream car? Miata. 10. The room you are in? Cold. 11. Your ex? North. 12. Your fear? Loss. 13. What do you want to be in 10 years? Alive. 14. Who did you hang out with last night? Cats. 15. What you’re not? Mensa. 16. The last thing you did? Eat. 17. What are you wearing? Comfy. 18. Your favorite book? Many. 19. The last thing you ate? Scrambled. 20. Your life? Amazing. 21. Your mood? Content. 22. Your friends? Awesome. 23. What are you thinking about right now? Shopping. 24. Your car? Red. 25. What are you doing at the moment? Duh. 26. Your summer? Busy. 27. Your relationship status? Happy. 28. What is on your TV? Nothing. 29. When is the last time you laughed? Morning. 30. Last time you cried? Weeks. 31. School? Never. Copy. Paste. Answer. One. Word. * * * I’ve decided that from now on, when I have to join something online (say, the RiteAid site, so I can submit my name and address for a rebate) and they demand a title, I’m going to use “Dr” as my title. Dr. Robyn And3rson. Has a ring to it, no? (I bet it’ll be less than a month before I’m getting junk mail with special offers for Dr. Robyn And3rson.) I can’t decide what my specialty should be, though. I thought of proctology or veterinary medicine, but those are too obvious. I want something obscure, yet cool. Suggestions? * * * “Please, lady? Can’t I go out?” * * * Previously 2006: “Hmm,” I said, like that meant something to me. 2005: Just because the fuckers are talking to me doesn’t mean I’m obligated to listen to their bullshit, does it? 2004: What exactly the fuck was I supposed to be doing at 5:30 on a Sunday afternoon, running for fucking president? 2003: No entry. 2002: Apparently the Committee for Deciding Who is Hellbound was meeting in the waiting room. 2001: “Jesus has arrived in Madison,” he said nonchalantly. 2000: Now that, my friends, is wickedly fast. ]]>

* * * Comments: You know you’ve been reading too much of Robyn’s blog when you start dreaming about Robyn’s life. I had a dream the other night that Newt ate all but 2 of your chickens! Sorry! At least I’m not clairvoyant or anything! 🙂 But which two did he not eat – Fricasee and Flappy McGee, or two of the unnamed ones? (And you’re not the only one who’s had dreams about us. I occasionally dream about internet people I’ve never met, too.)

* * * Would you have to get 4 of those litter robots? At $300 a pop, that’s kind of pricey. Still, it would be worth it if it worked. I currently scoop 4 domed litter boxes every other day and that gets old fast. Can you close your bedroom door to keep the critters out? We used to sleep with the door opened allowing cats in and out, but we started shutting them out at night and WOW what a difference in the quality of sleep. Little brats. Speaking of the Litter Robots, I ordered one after I got an email from Michelle (hi, Michelle!), because I figure the worst that happens is it doesn’t work for us, then I have to send it back and get a refund. I’m perfectly fine with having to empty out the poo drawer (or whatever the hell it’s called) twice a day – it isn’t the fact that I have to clean out the litter box so often that’s made me want to order the Litter Robot, it’s the fact that I have to run into the laundry room 14 times a day and scoop litter over the latest pile Sugarbutt or Tommy (or whoever) has left behind, and because the laundry room is next to the kitchen, that’s the sort of thing that can really stink up a couple of rooms (especially since the door that goes between the laundry room and kitchen is out in the garage waiting for me to strip and repaint it!). I’m concerned that the older cats – Spot especially – will be scared by the Litter Robot, so once it gets here, I plan to put it in the laundry room, but also offer a regular litter box as well. Hopefully once the cats realize that the Litter Robot offers always-clean litter, they’ll all take to it. There’s no way on earth we’d end up with 4 Litter Robots – I’d never be able to talk Fred into spending that much money, first of all, and secondly, we wouldn’t have the room for four of them. Right now, we don’t have 4 litter boxes, anyway – we just have one big one, and it seems to be working okay for us. I’ve read that you’re supposed to have twice as many litter boxes as you have cats, but that is so NOT going to happen in the And3rson household in THIS lifetime. I could close the bedroom door to keep the cats out, but to be honest, I like having them in there sleeping with me. Most of the time they stake out their own spots in the room and let me have enough room to sleep, and they stay quiet all night long. Just every once in a while something gets into all of them (I think it’s hormonal, actually – I’m due to start my period, and that always gets them wild for a day or two) and they turn into real pains in the ass. * * * The first thing that popped into my mind when you said you fed the chickens eggs was “Would you eat a human embryo?” Is there such a thing as mad chicken disease? YUCK! If a human embryo were as tasty as a cheese omelet, I’d have to say yes. (Although the egg we fed the chickens was most likely unfertilized, so it would really be more like eating a human egg rather than a human embryo. And human eggs are teeny, so it’d probably take a LONG time to gather enough to make a decent omelet.) * * * Is Spanky getting older? Bruce used to do the nighttime yowling thing when he became elderly. The vet said there are lots of reasons why older cats do that–it turned out that Bruce had developed hyperthyroidism (he was losing, weight, too, which was why we brought him in that time) and that’s what was causing it with him. Spanky’s 10 years old – almost 11! – but I don’t think we can blame it on his age. He’s always been a cat who likes to hear himself talk (we think he’s got some Siamese in him), and his entire life he’s done the wandering-around-the-house-howling thing. * * * Now I’m worried that you are going to shoot someone that you like. No running around with a gun! My dad almost shot my brother doing something like that. Buy a wicked alarm system. Then switch to a taser. There’s a world of difference between holding a gun (finger NOT on the trigger, safety engaged) and actually firing a gun. I have no desire to own a taser (I might be tempted to tase a cat when they’re really being annoying), and we already have a security system in place – I arm it every night when I get home, or after Fred leaves Smallville for Madison, and keep it armed until the next morning. I haven’t shot anyone yet, but if I were to shoot someone, it’d be someone I don’t like, obviously. * * * Robyn, were you still buck nekkid when you were running through the house with your gun?? No, I tossed a nightgown on once I realized the cats weren’t in hiding. Of course, if I’d stayed buck nekkid, I wouldn’t have needed the gun – anyone who’d broken into the house would have taken one look at my buck nekkid ass and turned to stone. Does the crashing mirror lend any more credence to the ghost theory? Uhhhhh…. nope, not as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t. I think it lends credence to the “Double-sided tape is a bad way to keep a mirror stuck to a medicine cabinet” theory, though. Lesson learned! * * * The smug look on Sugarbutt’s face cracks me up. * * * Previously 2006: Smart man, that one. 2005: Back from Gatlinburg. 2004: No entry. 2003: I love Von, and questions answered. 2002: No entry. 2001: Miz Poo gives me a scare. 2000: My husband, the diplomat.]]>

I’m selling shit on eBay. You KNOW you totally needed a Chippendale Tea Box from the late 1700s.

* * * If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my entire life of novel reading and TV show and movie watching, it’s that communication is fucking KEY. How many fucking novels and shows and movies have plots that hinge on miscommunication? Too fucking many. Though I suppose if one character said to another “Is it true that you’re fucking that evil woman, who just informed me that you are in love?” instead of “That evil woman told me what’s going on”, it would reduce the length of said novel or show or movie by approximately 50 percent. I’m just saying. * * *
Last week when Fred was in Smallville with me, we were sitting on the couch playing Scrabble (you envy our exciting life, DO NOT DENY IT)(also, apparently Fred wins Scrabble when we play, but only because I LET him. Shhh, don’t tell him!) and it was windy and blustery out, and we kept hearing the sounds of a bird cheeping. Mister Boogers disapproves of Scrabble. “Harbl” was mine, “Hef” was Fred’s. Nicknames and internet lingo are A-OK by our rules. We’re thinking of playing a game with the rule “It’s not a word, but it totally sounds like it should be!” next time. “I think there’s a bird in the chimney,” Fred said, and went over to peer up the chimney. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous*,” I said. “There’s not a bird in the chimney. The roof guy put a cap on the chimney!” Fred peered up the chimney some more, and I p’shawed again and told him to get back on the couch to finish the game of Scrabble. He left Crooked Acres around 8, and the weather kept getting windier, and some time around 11, as I was watching some show or another on iTunes, I became aware that the chirping, squawking bird noises from the chimney were getting more insistent. I ignored the sounds for a while and then huffed with annoyance, put down the laptop and went to get a flashlight. I noted, right before I laid down on my back in the fireplace with my face under the opening to the chimney, that there seemed to be quite a lot of bird poop on the floor of the fireplace. I peered up the chimney, flashing the flashlight around the chimney, and then suddenly, toward the top of the chimney, something flapped wildly and squawked, and I screamed and levitated across the room, landing in the opposite corner, surrounded by freaked-out cats. Once I’d calmed down a bit, I grabbed my cell phone and called Fred, to report that there was something flapping around in the chimney, and what should I do? Fred very much appreciated being awakened (NOT) and after a minute, I came up with my own solution, apologized for waking him up, and went upstairs, where I grabbed a set of sheets from out of the closet in his bedroom, which I brought downstairs and stuffed in the hole leading to the chimney. Assured that no birds would come flying down the chimney and peck my eyes out while I was sleeping, I went to bed. Investigator Toms searches for the bird. The next morning, I pulled the sheets out and looked to see if the bird was still up there. It was, and it squawked and flapped when the light from the flashlight hit it, and again I screamed and levitated across the room, followed by an amazing number of cats. It’s just disconcerting to have something with a sharp little beak squawking and flapping about not far from your face. I called Fred. “I think that bird’s stuck in the chimney,” I said. “Let me call the chimney guys and see if they can come out and let it out,” he said. Ten minutes later, he called back. “They said they’ll be out ‘sometime,’” he reported. “That’s what they said? ‘Sometime’?” I said. “Yes, the lady at the office said she’d call the guy and he’d be out sometime.” “Well, that’s HELPFUL,” I said, and because it was a day I needed to go to Madison and do some laundry, I did that, figuring that if they needed me at the house, it’d only take me 20 minutes to get there. That evening, I reported to Fred that the bird was still there. Next morning, same thing. Fred called the chimney guys, and discovered that in the past day the phone number had been disconnected, with no forwarding number. “They went out of business to avoid you!” I teased Fred. A while later he called me back to tell me that he’d called the guys who’d trimmed our trees a few months ago, and they said that they’d send someone out to free the bird. I puttered around the house for a while longer, then decided to double-check and be sure the bird was still up there. And it was gone. Figures, doesn’t it? At least I realized it in time to get Fred to cancel the guy who was coming out. I’m still a little curious to know how the bird got through the cap and into the chimney, let alone back out. *You can already see where this is going, can’t you? * * * I am a gal who loves her mail. I order stuff through the mail (well, over the internet, but it arrives in the mail), I subscribe to ten thousand magazines, and I’m always interested in what the mailperson is bringing me. One thing that confirms to me that this house was meant to be ours is that the mail lady comes by between 9 and 10 in the morning. Every other place I’ve lived in Alabama, the mailperson hasn’t come around until late in the afternoon, and I hate waiting all day to get my mail. It’s an illness, I tell ya. Anyway, here in the country a package is being delivered via the post office – one that won’t fit in the mailbox – the mail lady pulls into the driveway and honks her horn. If you’re home, you go running out to get your mail; if you’re not, she leaves it by your front door. One day last week I wasn’t dressed yet, was lounging on the couch reading (I’m doing a lot of reading since I moved to Crooked Acres – because there’s no internet, I guess) when she pulled into the driveway and honked her horn. I flew up off the couch, ran into the bedroom, and pulled some clothes on over my nightgown. By the time I made it back to the front door, she was walking across the porch. “Hi!” she said, and handed over my pile o’ mail. “Hi,” I said, knowing I looked like a dork with a calf-length Big Dog nightgown hanging out under a tshirt and over a pair of gray cotton pants. “I’m always worried about coming to the door,” she said, darting a look at the cat house to the side of the door. “I’m always worried about… dogs.” Because I thought she was talking in general terms, I smiled understandingly and wished her a good day. It wasn’t until about half an hour later that I realized she wasn’t concerned about dogs in general on her daily mail rounds – she was concerned that we had a dog, and she didn’t want to be bitten. She thought the cat house was a dog house. Which makes me wonder if that’s why no one ever knocks on the door, because they think we’ve got a vicious dog. I assumed that people in the area understood that we’re cat people, that they’d seen the cats on the porch, seen me feed the cats, heard Fred standing on the front porch and calling “KittyKittyKitty!” in his falsetto. I guess the people in the area aren’t as fascinated by us as we are. * * * * * * Previously 2006: (See various entries I’ve written wherein I said that I’m bad in an emergency) 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Questions answered. 2002: No entry. 2001: Spring cleaning. 2000: Let’s just say our mother was not pleased.]]>

This is how my hair looks after I wash it, before I comb and dry it. I always think about moussing the hell out of it and keeping it wild like this, just to freak Fred out.

* * * Hey, look! Someone nominated me for Best Animal Blogger. I didn’t even know there was a Blogger’s Choice Award! * * * Y’all seem like a bunch who know a lot about a lot. Also, I am very seriously considering buying a Litter Robot. I’d like to hear from those of you who have one and what your experience has been like and whether it’s worth the price. * * * So yeah, no entry on Friday. Sorry ‘bout that (except, not really). I wasn’t in the mood for writing, and I wasn’t in the mood for driving to Madison to upload said entry even if I’d been in the mood for writing (the traffic on the Friday before a holiday weekend is a nightmare), so no entry. I don’t remember what I actually did do on Friday, though because it’s a day that ends in “y”, it involved vacuuming the entire house at some point. In the afternoon, after Fred showed up from work, I dug up all the tomato plants (they were in peat plots, so when we planted them, we planted them pot and all, which conveniently made it easier to dig them back up) and put them in the garage. It was due to get very cold over the weekend and tomato plants are sensitive, so they needed to either be covered or in some way protected. Thus, the garage. When it warms up again, I’ll be replanting them. I’m thrilled at the idea, believe you me. Since the only other plants we had in the vegetable garden were peppers and they were going to be more difficult to dig up, I opted to bring leaves from the leave pile in the back yard (a pile I made sometime last Fall with the intention of burning them, which I never got around to doing) and put a pile of leaves atop each pepper plant. The entire time I was doing that, Fred was working on the chicken coop, and Maxi followed me around. She cracks me up, that cat – anytime I’d stop to do something, she’d stop as well and flop on her back on the ground and flail around, her little legs sticking straight up in the air. I’ve never seen a cat who so loves to get dirty and dusty and stay that way. Saturday, Fred finished building the chicken coop while I helped a little (a VERY little) bit. I puttered around the house, did some stuff on my computer (the desktop, as opposed to the laptop – the funny thing is that I’ve been on my desktop maybe four times since I moved in, which makes it kind of humorous that the first thing I wanted Fred to do when I moved in is hook up my computer), did some reading, took a nap, and vacuumed the entire house. We stopped at Ruby Tuesday for dinner, then hung out at the house. I got in a couple of hours of surfing the internet while Fred did the same and then took a bath, then we watched Rocky Balboa (not a bad movie) and I headed home to Crooked Acres. Saturday was not a good night for me. I was about asleep when Sugarbutt started racing through the house like his tail was afire, so I sat up and yelled at him. He ignored me, raced around a while longer, then went to sleep, which allowed me to do the same. I was awakened a couple more times by rambunctious cats, and then at 2:30 I woke to find that I was racing, buck nekkid, toward the bedroom door, frantically digging earplugs from my ears. A quick scan of my memory and I realized an extremely loud crash had woken me up, so I paused by the bedroom door and listened. The cats were a tad freaked, but not person-in-the-house freaked (“person-in-the-house freaked” = you don’t see a cat anywhere, because they’re all hiding), so I listened for a moment longer, then started going through the house room by room to figure out what had happened. “What did you DO?” I accused Sugarbutt, who looked up at me with the most innocent face in existence. I found no large pieces of furniture knocked over, no windows or doors broken, and was starting to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing, when I went into the bathroom. Our medicine cabinet in the bathroom is all mirrored glass – it’s mirrored on the front and on both sides. I never thought to wonder exactly how the panels on the side were held on (I guess I assumed they were attached somehow with screws or held in place with brackets or something – I just never really looked all that closely, obviously), and so it was with dismay that I found that they side panels were held on with double-sided tape. How did I discover this? Why, because the double-sided tape on one of the side panels had let go, then it flipped down into the sink and shattered. I tried as hard as I could, but I couldn’t come up with a way to blame that one on the cats. On the good side, the majority of the glass had landed in the sink, thereby containing it, so I only had to scoop the glass out of the sink into a trash can, sweep the floor of the bathroom to be sure there were no shards that could slice up cat paws, and then I went back to bed. Between 2:45 and 7, I was awakened approximately 1,000 times by each and every cat in the house. They all either wanted to knead on my arm for six hours, purring and giving me the Love Eyes (Miz Poo and Sugarbutt), stand on the pillow upon which my head rested, kneading for six hours and giving me the Love Eyes while simultaneously trying to figure out how to get me to move my head off the pillow so they could have it for themselves (Tommy), rest their entire 600 pounds of body weight against my legs and then complain if I dared to move my legs in the slightest (Mister Boogers), stand next to me and stare creepily at me as if they were considering the best way to kill me (Spot), or just wander dreamily through the house, pausing every three feet to howl mournfully (Spanky). At 6:30, Sugarbutt started digging at the blinds in the bedroom, wanting them opened so he could sit and watch the birds hop around on the lawn (never mind that I leave the blinds on one of the computer room doors pulled up at the bottom so he can do that very thing), Tommy and Mister Boogers started a quarrel that culminated in Mister Boogers bouncing across my stomach, followed by Tommy (who is gunning for the “Fattest And3rson Cat” title previously held by Tubby) doing the same, and then Spot started up with his godawful otherworldly squeaking, and finally I picked up my cell phone and called Fred. “I want you to come over here and kill these cats and then nail wood over the bathroom door and close off that room forever, and then I want YOU to live here with the cats so I can live there with NO small animals to torture me all night long.” He laughed unsympathetically and said what he always says when I complain about how I don’t have internet at the house (UGH) or how the cats have kept me tossing and turning all night or the fact that I have to wash my hair in the kitchen sink and then take a bath because of the BATHROOM ISSUES, or whatever I’m complaining about. “I tried to tell you I should stay out there and you could stay here!” Never mind that I made that suggestion only because Madison is closer to his office than Crooked Acres, and I only suggested that I stay in Crooked Acres instead so he wouldn’t have to drive half an hour, as opposed to thirty (proofreading is your friend, Robyn) ten minutes. Never mind that for the past three Saturdays I’ve suggested that he sleep at Crooked Acres so I could sleep in a bed that does NOT contain four cats at any given time during the night. He always pretends he can’t hear me when I suggest we switch houses for the night, because he is a mean, uncaring sadist. So Sunday, I stayed in bed until late, reading, and then I read some more and then… I slacked off for the majority of the day, except for a trip to Lowe’s with Fred to pick up fence stuff. And let me take a moment here to say that he will mock anything he’s built, whether it’s the cat house, the wood shed or the chicken coop, but with every new thing he builds, he does it better and better, and I honestly think that chicken coop would easily withstand a tornado. We’ve got twelve chickens who don’t have any idea how lucky they are. Those are going to be some spoiled rotten chickens, in their little chicken mansion with their spacious yard. And they won’t even be grateful because they are CHICKENS. Speaking of the chickens, who we refer to collectively as “the girls” (we always refer to the cats collectively as “the boys”), I was making myself an omelet for breakfast Saturday, and Fred suggested that I boil a couple of eggs for them. I did, then peeled and chopped them, and when they were cool we brought them upstairs and offered them to the girls. “I feel like this is a little cannibalistic,” Fred said, just before we walked into the room where we’re keeping the chickens. (On a side note, a couple of weeks ago I said that the chickens don’t stink. Well, that was then and this is now – much in the same way humans start to get stinky when they hit adolescence, chickens do too. I cannot wait to get them out of the house and into the chicken coop so they can stop stinking up my house.) The girls and Fricasee are apparently great fans of boiled eggs. Fricasee, especially, could not contain his excitement. He grabbed up a piece of egg white and started running around the pool, chirping excitedly. Naturally the other chickens wanted to know what he had, so they chased him around, and eventually one of them grabbed the egg white away from him. I don’t know how many times he repeated the same act, running like mad, jumping over anyone who was in his way. It was seriously funny to watch. “How YOU doin’?” Later, we learned that they don’t care for tomatoes at all, and baby oatmeal cereal is like crack to them. * * * Sunday, early afternoon, I glanced out the kitchen to see an orange cat walking across the lawn belonging to the man next door, headed for our front porch. “Huh,” I thought. “Newt looks different.” I regarded him for a few more minutes, then wandered off and thought no more of it. A while later, I was sitting on the couch NOT playing Snood (okay, just one game! Just one!) when I got up to do something. I noticed that Sugarbutt was looking intently out the window directly in front of the cat tree. I went over to see what he was looking at, and saw Newt eating out of the food bowl next to the cat house. And then I saw Newt sitting to the side. I snapped a picture of the Newtalike, then went out on the porch to see if he’d let me pet him. Before I even got the door open all the way, the Newtalike had vamoosed, and though I looked all over the place, I couldn’t figure out where he’d gone. Later, when we were walking around the back forty – something we do almost every day – we saw him laying in the middle of the field. Though we called to him in friendly we-are-nice-people-who-only-want-to-feed-you, he wanted nothing to do with us, and when we got too close he ran off into the woods surrounding the back part of the property. I seriously think we need to have a webcam on the front porch. Maybe if I let Fred have his ChickenCam, he’ll agree to a CatCam. The Newtalike. Yes, he has a tail – it’s tucked over to the side. * * * “Behind you! A serial killer! Oh, wait. There’s nothing there. My bad.” * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: Stupid Steven Cojocaru. 2003: I think I speak for most Alabamans in this area when I say “Uh, what the FUCK?!” 2002: sights from my walk 2001: I am SO PISSED OFF. 2000: It’s not stealing if I give them credit, right? Uh… right?]]>

Fun Rainboots, or you can find them on Amazon – frog clogs, bumblebee rain boots, ladybug rain boots, among others (thanks for the links, Susan!). Last Fall when I was bitching about wanting a pair of cool rainboots (and ended up having to buy those ugly black rubber boots), a reader left the link in my comments. Thank you, reader whose name I cannot recall!

* * * We’re all going to avert our eyes and pretend that I didn’t, in my fumble-fingered way, spill Smallville’s REAL name not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES in two entries, which caused many of you to leave comments and email me to alert me to the fact that I’m an idiot. I’ve edited the name out, but a bunch of you saw it before I could. Just remember, should you be tempted to stalk me, that (1) I am a badass, (2) I carry a gun with me AND I know how to fire it (3) I am a Nervous Nellie who might shoot you if you look at me wrong and (4) I have two badass cats who sit and guard the front door all night long. Sure, they might run off if you approach them, but then I have Mister Boogers to protect me. (Nevermind that Mister Boogers’ way of protecting me would be to go hide in the closet.) Also, Fricasee the suspected rooster could probably peck your eyes out if you threatened his main feeder. * * * A couple of people have asked where the chairs and table (which we’ve got sitting on the cement pad in the back yard) came from. The table came from either Lowe’s or Wal-Mart several years ago. It was originally green, but we had it painted black to go better with the chairs. The chairs came from Lowe’s (I think) a few years ago, and they’re not terribly comfortable, but they’re also not terribly uncomfortable. They certainly do the job, anyway. I’d like to have a hammock in the back yard somewhere, but have to convince Fred that we really need one. * * * Last night I was all set to go to bed around midnight, and noticed as I walked past the windows in the dining room that the motion detector lights on the side of the house had been set off. Since both those lights overlook trees, they tend to go on and off all night, especially on windy nights. I went to the window to see if I could figure out what had set them off, and in the driveway I saw a mostly white cat with patches of black sitting and staring off into the distance toward the road. I think we might need to set up a webcam on the front porch to figure out just how many cats are partaking of the food bowl. No wonder the damn thing goes empty so fast. * * * I LOVED Sooner or Later. Had the album, the whole nine yards! Anyone know where you can get a copy of the song? My mom trashed all my albums when I went to college. I can’t believe how many of you loved that damn movie like I did. To my dismay, Take My Breath Away isn’t available on iTunes, but you can get the album on Amazon. I’ve put the album on my wishlist and I’ll be buying it with the sole purpose of ripping that one single song off the cd and importing it into iTunes. Also, Denise Miller was not only in Sooner or Later, I realized as I looked her up on Internet Movie Database that she was also the girl on Archie Bunker’s Place, of which I watched every single episode. And reader Lori says: Sooner or Later has recently been reissued by Wounded Bird Records is available at Amazon.com. Did you know that, up until recently, Rex has been selling real estate? He just wrapped up production on a TV pilot called City Girls. You can find clips on My Space. The last time I remember seeing Rex Smith, he was on one of the soap operas I used to watch, either The Young & the Restless or As the World Turns, but that was years ago. * * * Okay, y’all who’ve gotten yourselves hooked on Snood (I had nothing to do with it! I can’t help it if the first hit was free and you were instantly hooked!) – I have this to say, addicts: Suck it up, Buttercup! Heh. That’s what I said to Fred yesterday when he was talking about how much his back hurt. All sympathy, that’s me! Last night it was getting late and I wanted to get my ass to bed, but I also wanted to play a last game of Snood (I’m amazed I don’t dream about the damn game), so I said “Tommy, don’t let me play more than one game!” When the game was over, Tommy said “Beeotch, you totally know you need to play another one. Just one more winning game and then you can go to bed!” I ended up playing 7 or 8 more games and didn’t get into bed ‘til almost 1. I blame Tommy. He’s an enabler. * * * The friggin’ chickens have gotten so damn big lately. I swear, they grow visibly in the course of a couple of hours. I go see them first thing in the morning to clean their water (they like to kick shavings into their water and poop in it too, while they’re at it) and feed them, and I usually check on them during the course of the day, and again at night, and between the time I see them in the morning and the time I see them at night, they’ve gotten obviously bigger. I don’t know – in answer to a question one of you asked – at what point they’ll be done growing, but they’re certainly getting there. Fred may finish the coop this weekend, and hopefully next weekend we’ll be able to put them out there permanently. This is something I’m looking forward to mostly because I’m tired of vacuuming up all the pine shavings and chicken food we’re tracking all over the damn house. * * * Six cats? Yeah, right. Liar. You have eight. When you take a “not my cat” to the vet and make sure they get snack and ointment, you officially have eight! crazy cat lady.. Shaddup, haters. WE HAVE SIX CATS, NOT EIGHT. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it! * * * Amazing Race spoiler within; skip the next section if you aren’t up to date! I was sad when rob and amber left. I was SO PISSED when Rob and Amber left, and that’s funny – we LOATHED them when they were on Survivor, Fred hated the hell out of Rob especially, and we weren’t that crazy about them on the first Amazing Race they were on. But this season, they somehow grew on us, and when they ended up coming in last and getting eliminated, I was thisclose to refusing to watch the show anymore. I gave Rob and Amber: Against the Odds a try, but it’s such a contrived show (oh, the cameras just HAPPEN to be around when Rob suggests the idea of playing poker professionally and they have a big fight? My ass.) and I couldn’t care less about poker, so it’s not something I bothered to watch past the first two episodes. (A normal person might watch one episode, decide they don’t like the show, and stop watching. Not me, no. I have to watch a second episode just to make SURE I don’t like it. Duh.) * * * Speaking of Amazing Race, Rebecca from Amazing Race 6 (who came in third) is now on Work Out, which I’ve just started watching (iTunes store, will you marry me?). I really like the show, though whether it’s because it’s a good show or there’s enough eye candy to keep me interested, I haven’t decided yet. * * * The sentries, waiting to kick your butt. “Behind you! A serialkillerstalker!” “I will happily peck out de eyes.” “…but I am not steadfastly loyal. The price of my loyalty: one fat, juicy worm.” * * * Previously 2006: “Hard liquor is the first stop on the train to Gaysville.” 2005: I had no idea that leaving the top of the washstand bare meant that you didn’t appreciate the washstand. 2004: (Yeah, yeah, cry you a river. I know. Bite me.) 2003: No entry. 2002: Apparently Fancypants’ evil twin (except that I’m sure Fancypants is actually the evil one) now lives in our neighborhood. 2001: No entry. 2000: I guess there’ll be no physical fisticuffs for me to go break up. ]]>

yesterday is up, too.) 001. When was your last kiss? Last night, when Fred left Smallville for Madison. (Unless cat kisses count, in which case a couple of hours ago when I woke up and Sugarbutt was needing some love.) 002. Do you have a pet? Six cats. Six. NOT EIGHT. 003. What are you dreading right now? The Madison house being on the market for months and months and having to take a big financial hit before it sells. 004. Do you celebrate 4/20? That’s a pot reference, isn’t it? I’ve never smoked pot. 005. Only child? Nope – two older brothers, one younger sister. 006. Favorite ice cream? I don’t know – vanilla, I guess. 007. When was your last doctors visit? I don’t even remember – oh, back at the end of January, when I had my one-year followup with my surgeon. 008. Do you get the full 8 hours of sleep a night? Some nights, yes. Some nights, no. Depends on what I’m doing in the evening when I get tired and whether I want to stay up and keep doing it (SNOOD). 009. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning? On Monday mornings – which is the only day I really have to get up and get going – it takes about 45 minutes to get my chores (litter box, feeding and watering the chickens, making my bed) and shower done. 010. “First Loves Are Never Over;” is this true for you? Not at all. 011. Think of all your exes. Would you take any of them back? Not a one. 012. What if someone came to your house on your “lazy day”? Then I suppose they could be lazy with me! 013. Do you talk to loved ones and friends graves? I do not. 014. Have you ever been on your schools track team? HELL no. 015. Do you own a pair of Converse? No. 016. Who did you copy and paste this survey from? I don’t remember – somewhere on Livejournal, I think. 017. Do you eat raw cookie dough? If there was ever any around here, no doubt I would. I don’t remember the last time I made cookies. Maybe I need to rectify that. 018. Have you ever kicked a vending machine? Not that I recall. 019. Don’t you hate when the radio ruins good songs by playing them over and over? When I find a song I love, I want to hear it over and over and over again, so no. I don’t hate it. 020. Would you rather them play the whole video or just a clip? The whole video, I guess. Who is the “them” we’re talking about? 021. Do you watch Trading Spaces? Nope, never have. 022. How do you eat oreos? Filling first. 023. Have you ever stayed online for a very long time waiting for someone to sign on? Not in years and years, but when I first got online I did it ALL the time. 024. Are you cocky? I don’t think I am. 030. Could you live without a computer? Of course, but I wouldn’t like it. How the hell would I check my email?! 031. Do you wear your shoes in the house? Nope. And I yell at the spud and Fred if they do. It gets the floors very dirty very quickly. 033. At what age did you find out that Santa wasn’t real? At the distressingly advanced age of 13. 034. How many phones, house phones and cell phones are in your house? Right now, just the one cell phone. Well, there’s another phone, a house phone, but it’s not plugged in or working. In Madison, there are two cell phones (Fred and the spud) and three house phones. 035. What do you do when you’re sad? I don’t know – I rarely get sad. I guess I’d cry, listen to sad songs, snuggle with Fred. Depends on what’s making me sad, I suppose. 036. Who would you call first if you won the lottery? First Fred (“Quit your job!”) and then my sister (“A house for you! On me!”) 037. Last time you saw your best friend? Last night in Smallville (Fred) or in January in Gatlinburg (mah sistah). 038. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? I’d be a lot smarter and less scatterbrained. 039. Last movie you rented? Via Netflix, Sooner or Later and Little Miss Sunshine arrived the same day. Oh, and The Departed, too. 040. Who/what sleeps with you every night? A varying number of cranky cats. Miz Poo and Mister Boogers, always, and Spanky’s usually on the bed somewhere, along with Spot. Sugarbutt occasionally comes looking for love and then Tommy will come up and stand next to me and march for an hour until I wake up and get annoyed and threaten him with the can of compressed air, which always makes him run away. 041. Are you/have you ever been in love? Yes. Have been and am. 042. Pancakes or french toast? Pancakes – but just one. 043. How do you like your eggs? Scrambled or over hard, depending on what else I’m eating with my eggs. 045. Is anyone on your bad side right now? All those people who have looked at the Madison house and HAVE NOT made an offer. 046. What jewelry are you wearing? Not a damn thing. 047. What’s the first thing you do when you get online? Check my email and then my comments. 048. Do you own any TV seasons on DVD? My So-Called Life, and… I think that’s it, actually. 049. Do you watch Grey’s Anatomy? Indeed I do. 050. How do most people spell your name? Most people spell it correctly, but I’d say about a third of the emails or comments I get, people spell it with an “i”. It used to bother me, but not so much anymore. 051. Would you wear a boy/girlfriends clothes? If they fit! 054. What was the first movie that gave you nightmares? Movies don’t really give me nightmares. (Speaking of nightmares, I had a nightmare last night that I was pregnant. Ugh.) 055 Who’s your favorite celebrity couple? I… don’t know. Absolutely no one comes to mind. I’d say Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt because they’re so very pretty, but I don’t think they can be counted upon to stay a couple for long. 056. Favorite 80’s teen movie? Breakfast Club. 057. Is Justin Timberlake becoming the next Michael Jackson? Uh… no. Justin does not impress me. Of course, neither does Michael Jackson in the past 15 years or so. 058. Do you know someone that wasn’t born in the United States? My sister was born in Canada. 059. Favorite name for a boy? I really like the name Jack. It’s a good, solid, dependable name. 060. Will you keep your last name when you get married? I didn’t, no. 061. Your favorite restaurant that you don’t get to eat at much? Nothing comes to mind – I don’t know that I even have one favorite restaurant. 065. Have you ever cursed at a teacher or a boss? Not to their face. 066. How do you eat your steak? Medium rare. 068. How do you get to school? I don’t. 069. Do you have a dishwasher? Yes, though it’s a lot smaller than the one in Madison. 071. Would you survive in prison? “Survive”? Yes. “Thrive”? No. 072. Next concert you hope to go to? I don’t know – maybe Big Spring Jam in the fall. I always say I’m going to go, and then I never do. 073. What was the last thing you ate? Scrambled eggs and half a low-carb bagel. 075. Who did you last say “I love you” to? Fred. 075. Who is the youngest in your family? Of my siblings, that would be my sister, who just turned… uh… 37! Of all the people I’m related to, that would be my nephew Jeffrey, who’s about to turn 2. 076. If all of your friends were going on a road trip, who would be left there? Who would be left… where? I don’t think this question makes sense. 077. Do you know anyone with the same name as you? Lots of them! Not in real life, though. 078. How many syllables does your name have? Two. 079. What does your license plate say? I couldn’t even tell you – it’s just a random number. 080. When is the last time you ate peanut butter? A couple of days ago, I think. I don’t know – I don’t keep track of my pb consumption. 081. What service is your cell phone? T-Mobile. 082. When’s the last time you ran? Last night I was cleaning out the litter box (in the back of the house) when my cell phone (in the front room) rang, and I ran from the back of the house to the front. Or did you mean for exercise? Because the answer to that would be “Pretty much never.” 083. What’s the last thing you purchased? Bottled water at Sam’s Club. 084. Do your siblings ever pay for stuff for you? Uh… no? I assume that gifts are left out of this question? 085. Where is your cellphone? On the table next to me. 086. Is your phone on vibrate or ring? Ring – and I have a different ringtone assigned to most of the people who regularly call me. If Fred calls from work or his cell phone, Green Day’s “Basket Case” plays. If he or the spud calls from home, it’s “Sweet Home Alabama.” If the spud calls, “Life is a Highway” plays (I am having a hard time finding a good ringtone for her – I wanted “Friends in Low Places” because I used to sing that to her, but they don’t have it. I tried the Barney theme song, but they didn’t have THAT either, damnit.) “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” plays if my sister calls, and if Liz calls, “Here I Go Again” plays (because they didn’t have “Boys of Summer”). 087. What brand is your trousers right now? Land’s End. Size medium! 088. Ever been to Vegas? Nope – though I’m trying to talk Fred into going for his 40th birthday. (With me, that is. Not by himself!) 089. Did you have breakfast this morning? Yes – I do most mornings. 090. Do you like marshmallows? On occasion, usually sandwiched between two graham crackers and a piece of chocolate. 091. What irritates you most on the internet? When people allude to things that are going on in their lives and don’t spill the details. Drives me NUTS. 092. What brand is your digital camera? Sony. 093. Do you watch movies with your parents? When I’m in Maine or they’re here, yes. 094. Do you wear short shorts? HELL no. 096. What song best describes your life right now? Nothing comes to mind. It doesn’t describe my life at all, but I’ve been listening to Surrender by Chemda almost nonstop in my car lately (I burned it to a cd) 097 Do you own expensive perfume/cologne? I do not – in fact, lately, my big thing is to buy perfume samples on eBay if I think I might like to wear the perfume, because I get tired of certain scents after a while. 098. Are you taking college classes right now? I am not. 099. Who are you dating right now? Sugarbutt. 100. Do your parents know you curse? Uh, yes. 101. Do you like sushi? I’ve only really ever had sushi rolls, and I can’t eat them anymore because the rice makes me ill. 102. Do you get your hair cut every month? Every six weeks or so – though I was scheduled to be cut & colored today, and I rescheduled for next week. I like the end result of having my hair done, but I hate the process. 103. Do you go online everyday? No, I’m down to about five days a week right now. 104. Do your jeans have rips, tears, and holes in them? Nope. 105. If you could look like any family member, dead or living, who would it be? Uh. I don’t know – my grandmother when she was young, I s’pose.

* * * Cetta tagged me for this: List five things you are obsessed with, then tag five people to do the same. 1. Snood. 2. The number of people who have looked at the house. 3. The floor and whether it needs to be Swiffered, vacuumed, or mopped. 4. The fact that I have NO GODDAMN INTERNET. 5. The kitty snackin’ song. Swear to god, I sing it in my head fourteen times a day. “Whoooooooo’s ready for the snackin’? Ready for the snackin’? Ready for the snackin’ TIME? Suggie’s ready for the snackin’, Tommy’s ready for the snackin’, Spot’s ALWAYS ready for the snackin’, come on, Boogs, it’s snackin’, it’s TIIIIIME!”, repeat the entire time the snack is being slapped down on the plate and carried into the laundry room while a line of kitties is dancing and singing and screaming for their snack. I sing the Snackin’ Song at the very top of my lungs, and it’s a good damn thing the neighbor’s not right next to us in Smallville the way they are in Madison, ‘cause they’d be carrying me off in restraints pretty goddamn quick. If you’re reading this, consider yourself tagged! * * * Nance reminded me that I have yet to share a picture of my ultra-sexy new clogs and boots with y’all. Frog clogs. Did you know that if it’s recently been raining and then you go and stand too close to the edge of a pond because you want to see the tadpoles, who are hiding under the leaves by the edge of the water, that chances are good you very well might slide into the water? Just one foot, though, thank god. My kickass boots. * * * When Fred comes out to Crooked Acres, we like to take the chicks outside to hang out in the “playpen” he’s built for them. They like to peck at the bugs and grass (Saturday when the spud and I were moving wood, we found a bunch of worms and gave them to the chicks. The chicks react to worms by grabbing one of them and then running wildly around the pen so that the other chicks think she’s got something really good and start chasing her around to get it from her. It’s seriously funny to watch), and Maxi and Newt like to watch them, and occasionally try to grab them. (Yes, we keep an eye on them and shoo them away if they’re getting too excited at the thought of having themselves chicken snacks.) * * * Speaking of Maxi and Newt, Monday evening when I got home from Madison, I got snacks for the inside kitties, and then got Maxi and Newt their evening snack as well (we spoil ALL cats rotten, don’t we?) and at the same time I brought the medicine for Newt’s eye out with me, and when I bent down to put it in Newt’s eye, I absolutely couldn’t tell which was the afflicted eye. Seriously, they both looked completely fine. (So I put ointment in both eyes, just to be safe.) * * * Previously 2006: “Brrrrrrrrrrp!” Mister Boogers said with great displeasure. 2005: E’gar comes home. 2004: No entry. 2003: “Hi. What R U doing to loose weight and how much weight have U lost?” 2002: Burned fucking beans. 2001: No entry. 2000: Diane Sawyer is so uncomfortable around kids, it’s laughable. ]]>

Okay, so have you been painting that cat’s fingernails!! I have not – seriously, you think any cat would stand still for that? I use Softpaws on Tommy and Sugarbutt’s nails, and I highly recommend them, but you really have to start when the cats are young so they’ll be trained to put up with it. Oh my god, are those green eyes you have there, Robyn? It really depends on what I’m wearing. Sometimes they look green, sometimes they look blue. They tend to look blue when I’m wearing purple, and when I’m wearing a lot of dirt on my face, they apparently look green.

* * * Possible Amazing Race spoilers below; skip to the next section if you haven’t seen the most recent few episodes. Okay, this is what drives me absolutely raving batshit about Mirna. Firstly, she’s always moaning on and on about how everyone hates them, how they’re persecuted, how they’re the only team god loves, and how they’re the only honest, good team when she and Charla are always cutting in line and acting like assholes. UGH. Secondly, and mostly, what drives me absolutely raving batshit about Mirna is how she takes on the accent of whatever country they’re traveling through. That is, if they’re in, say, Italy she takes on an Italian accent WHILE CONTINUING TO SPEAK ENGLISH. What the holy motherfucking fuck is the point of that bullshit? Like if a cab driver can’t speak English, her hackneyed Italian accent WHILE STILL SPEAKING ENGLISH, might I reiterate, is going to help matters? Not to mention that in the most recent episode, she was all “Can you help me out, my sister?” to the travel agent in wherever the fuck they were, then the next second she was all bitching about how slow they were and how long it was taking. Also, I just want to smack the shit out of her. I’m sure she’s a LOVELY girl, but she clearly needs a good, hard smack. And I’m sure if someone gave her the smack she deserved, she’d spend the rest of the show whining about how persecuted she is. UGH. * * * I watched the craptastic 80s (or possibly 70s?) movie Sooner or Later over the weekend. I recall being slightly obsessed with the book and the movie (and wasn’t there a sequel to Sooner or Later, the book? It seems like there was.), maybe because I adore the holy hell out of “Take My Breath Away”, as sung by Rex Smith, who played Michael Skye and who I thought was The Shit back in the day. But the movie doesn’t age all that well, because Michael Skye as played by Rex Smith kinda gives me the creeps with the knee socks whilst jogging and the bright red wet-looking lips and the onstage moves we’re supposed to view as sexy but are really rather cheesy. That girl who played the main character, though, she continues to strike me as flat-out adorable, though the bangs are a bit too heavy for her face. That was the look back then, though, I guess. * * * I spent all day today cleaning the hell out of the floors. The thing about these hardwood floors is that they look amazing, but they’re hard as hell to keep clean. I walk around in socks most of the time and the bottoms of my socks were getting absolutely filthy from the floors. So yesterday, after I cleaned the guest bedroom (or rather, what’s going to be the kitten foster room until it needs to be a guest bedroom) and painted the trim and unpacked the rest of the boxes waiting to be unpacked, I vacuumed the entire house. Then I ran a Swiffer over all the floors, and THEN I mopped the holy hell out of the floors. And as I was putting the mop away, once the floors were dry, I walked down the freshly vacuumed and mopped hallway, and found a tuft of Spot hair twisting gently in the breeze. UGH. At least the floors are clean. Or actually, they probably aren’t and need to be mopped again. We very desperately need to get to buying some area rugs for the hallways and other places throughout the house. The problem, though, is that until everything else gets moved over from the Madison house we won’t really know how much floor space needs to be covered. Speaking of the Madison house, Fred spoke to a realtor earlier, who wanted to know if it was okay for him to go into the house to take pictures of the inside and send to his client in Virginia, who’s very interested in the house. We were just finishing up dinner yesterday evening when a realtor called and wanted to show the house between 5:30 and 6. That gave us just enough time to clean up the kitchen, make sure nothing was laying out that shouldn’t be (ie, dirty laundry, underwear), and to get the hell out of there. We ended up taking a drive down memory lane, drove by the house we lived in before the Madison house, drove down to the other side of Madison and by the apartment complex we first lived in. There are a lot of houses going up in that area, so we drove around and looked at them. We admired them – they’re pretty houses – and when I saw a box of flyers in front of one of the houses, I hopped out of the car to grab one. This house was 300 square feet more than our house in Smallville, on about 1/18th the amount of land, and cost more than twice as much. HO. LY. SHIT. It’s funny how what we look for has changed so drastically since we were last looking for a house. We look at the new houses going up, and it boggles our minds how little land they’re on. * * * Sugarbutt: “Oh, I’m not getting involved in this one!” Showdown (Maxi finally hissed at Miz Poo, and Miz Poo just looked at her like “Your point is?”) HATE. * * * Previously 2006: Fred was no help, because he was standing there laughing his ass off. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: Nothing, by the way, pisses me off more than the crap that gets installed with the program you really want – Office 2000, I’m looking at you and your crappy Outlook friend. 2002: Mother Nature is getting ON MY NERVES. 2001: No entry. 2000: So if rainy days and Mondays always got me down, I guess I’d have been suicidal today.]]>

new logo! This one was created by the wonderful Aly, who’s created the last several logos. Thanks, Aly! You rock!!!

* * * Regarding the cost of college textbooks, which a couple of you brought up in my comments to Friday’s entry, you should probably know that Fred and I aren’t the only ones contributing to the spud’s education. Her great-grandfather left her a little money to use for college, and her paternal grandparents have a small college fund for her as well. She’ll still need to work for living expenses and probably to pay for some of her college textbooks, but she’s a pretty lucky kid, in my opinion, to have her tuition paid for, and money toward living expenses and books. * * * Comments: If she was enrolled to start college at such and such time in RI then maybe she could stay until that time with you all if she was working/paying her way. Yes, but that’s not what she wants to do. She wants to go to Rhode Island and then look for a college to attend rather than apply while she’s still down here, for some reason. what is spud going to take at college? I don’t know, because she doesn’t know. For years and years she said she wanted to be a teacher, but in the last couple of years she’s said she doesn’t want to be a teacher, but she just doesn’t know what she’s interested in. Maybe attending college will help her find her interest, or maybe she’ll just get a general liberal arts degree. Who knows? Robyn, you don’t have to answer my question if it’s too personal, but I was just shocked that the spud wants to go live with her dad. I’ve been reading your journal for over 5 years, and it never seemed like she was super close to him or anything. Again, if it’s too personal, I’m sorry and don’t answer it. You guys are kinda like that Jim Carrey Movie “The Truman Show” for me, so I this kinda seems like it’s out of left field. Oh, she’s very close to her father and stepmother, especially so over the past few years. When we first moved to Alabama, she talked to her father every few weeks on the phone but didn’t see him for the first three years we lived here. Then one year he wanted to see her at Christmas time, and he’s seen her almost every summer since then. She talks to them both on the phone all the time and like I said, she’s gotten quite close to him. I never mentioned that she was close to him because, I guess, it just never really occurred to me to say so. Personality-wise, she resembles him a great deal and he’s kind of like a big kid she likes to goof off with. It’ll be interesting to hear about her experiences once she lives with them for a few months. Reading these latest entries of yours, I’m tempted to start up [playing Snood] again. Don’t do it! DON’T DO IT! Hey, wait. I wonder if I could get a commission from the Snood guy for every one of you I turn into a Snooddict? Do it! DO IT! Heh. * * *
When one mows the lawn on a windy day when it hasn’t rained in a long time, one gets a lot of dust on one’s face. Friday afternoon when we were out doing outdoor country things (Fred was cutting the back part of the lawn with the tractor, and I was cutting the front and side lawns, and the part of the back lawn near the house), we noticed that Newt’s eye was red and infected-looking. I thought it was possible that he’d just gotten dust in his eye (we also did some planting in the vegetable garden and Newt likes to roll around in the dirt), and it was late in the day before we noticed it anyway, so we didn’t do anything about it. Saturday morning when Fred showed up at the house, he reported that Newt’s eye was looking much worse. He got out the yellow pages and started calling around Nearville (which is about five minutes away), trying to find a vet that was open on Saturday. He managed to find one and reported to me that he’d told the vet what was going on, and the vet said we could bring him in “around 8:30.” “He said he hadn’t made it in to the office yet,” Fred reported. “Even though the ad said they open at 8. He also sounded a little drunk.” I was somehow elected to take Newt to the vet, so we boxed him up and put him in my car. Poor Newt was scared to death and did NOT like being in the carrier, in the car, and moving. He howled and howled all the way to the vet’s office, and I was glad it was only about a ten minute drive. I pulled up to the office and found that it was a scary little run-down two-room building. I wondered for a moment whether I’d ended up at the wrong place, but the sign on the side of the building told me I was where I needed to be. I got out of the car and grabbed the now-silent Newt in his carrier. From inside the building a very tall man called out to me and had to repeat himself twice before I could understand him. He was wielding a mop and while the place was small and run-down, it was cleanish. Cluttered and messy, but cleanish. He seemed more than a little surprised to see someone carrying a cat, and in retrospect I wonder just exactly how big the clientele at this particular vet’s office is. (My guess: not many repeat visitors.) Having no idea whether he was the vet, I told him that my husband had called, cat with an eye problem, blah blah. “Well, he’s not here yet,” the man said. “Would you like to drop him off, or wait?” I couldn’t imagine dropping poor terrified Newt off, so I told him I’d stay if that was okay. He told me to have a seat and went back to cleaning. Sitting on the table in the waiting room was a small long-haired orange cat, and as s/he got up to greet me, I realized s/he was missing a front leg. S/he was friendly and well-cared for, though, so that was a plus. I waited only a minute or two before I heard a loud vehicle pull up to the building and a minute later a man who was about five feet tall and had a bit of a bowl cut going on walked through the door. He looked at me and looked at the carrier and said “What’ve you got?” “Cat with an eye problem,” I said. “Did someone call about him a while ago?” he asked. I nodded, and he told me to follow him to the back. We went to what I guess you’d call an examination room, a small room, open to the rest of the office, with a stainless steel table piled high with a bunch of crap (crap as in junk, not as in literal crap.) “Why’s these syringes here?” the vet called to the other guy, who called back something I couldn’t understand. He moved the box of syringes to the side and told me to go ahead and take Newt out of the carrier. Newt, who hadn’t wanted to BE in no carrier, suddenly wanted to be in the carrier more than anything in the world, and as I pulled him out, he grabbed onto everything he could to stall his removal. The vet wandered off and then wandered back and leaned over to peer at Newt. “Which eye is it?” he asked. If I were Fred, I would have said something snotty like “The red and swollen eye, maybe?”, but I’m not, I’m a nice girl (to strangers) so I pointed to the afflicted eye. He peered at it, opened the eye and glanced at it, and said “It’s infected.” In short order, he put some ointment in Newt’s eye, gave me the tube of ointment, and gave Newt a shot. Newt protested vociferously the entire time. I got Newt back in the carrier, told him to stop being such a big baby (I’m all heart, aren’t I?), and asked the vet how much I owed him, wrote him a check (I was a little surprised he’d take a check, to be honest), and was on my way, Newt singing the entire way home. You know how in movies and books, they often have a character who was a doctor and he did something boneheaded or stupid or accidentally killed someone he had his medical degree taken away and he ends up in some back-alley apartment giving medical attention for cash and then something happens and he’s the only one who can save the world and he hems and haws and in the end he saves the world and redeems himself? I think the little vet might need someone to come along and demand he save the world. If Will Smith is looking for him, he’ll be sitting in the reception area of his run-down little clinic, watching TV on a tiny set that only tunes in to one channel. (By the way, Newt’s eye seems to be getting better. I don’t plan on revisiting that vet again, though.) Newt snoopervises Maxi, who is checking out all the tadpoles we have in the pond. * * * The spud spent Friday night at Crooked Acres because we were under the impression realtors might want to show the Madison house Saturday and they usually start that sort of thing early so rather than have to get up and out of the house early on Saturday, she opted to stay at Crooked Acres. (The house was only shown once on Saturday. SIGH.) After I got back from taking Newt to the vet, I got my gloves on and wagon out of the garage, and started loading wood into the wagon. Fred finished the wood shed months ago, but the majority of the wood has been sitting on the cement slab in the back yard ever since. Since it was semi-cloudy and coolish on Saturday, I decided it was time to get the wood moved so I could set up the table and chairs we’d brought over from the patio in Madison. I was in the process of piling up the first load of wood when the spud came out and offered to help. I told her where to find a pair of gloves, and then she and I spent the next couple of hours moving wood. If she hadn’t offered to help, I’m sure it would have taken me all frickin’ day. Where the wood was, before we moved it. Eventually there’ll be a deck here. While we were moving wood, the woman who’d sold us the house came over to see how we were doing (she was visiting her brother, who lives in the house next door), and Fred offered to give her a tour of the house. A while later, her father came over to talk to Fred, and mentioned that he thought after seeing all the work we’d done on the house, she was feeling homesick for it. There have been issues with the house, but I have to say I’m absolutely loving it more every day. * * * By the way, we found out where Maxi came from. She apparently belonged to the family who owned our house. The owner said that they brought her home along with their other cat and named them Dixie and Pixie. Pixie (Maxi) took off and hardly ever came around again (she said) and so they thought she’d found a new home. When Fred asked if Newt could possibly be her kitten, she said she didn’t think so, that they’d found homes for all her kittens, and the orange (buff) cat didn’t sound familiar. But I distinctly remember her asking, one day before we closed on the house, if the black cat and the orange one had been around while we were there. Maybe she just forgot. Who knows? * * * Vegetable garden, April 1st. There’ll be a picture on the 1st of each month – that’s the plan, anyway. Dogwood in bloom. Sugarbutt cools his belly. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: I am not pregnant, and I’m especially not pregnant with twins. I’m sorry to disappoint – some of you got REALLY excited, didn’t you? 2004: I can totally see the Bean clinging frantically to the top of the Jeep while I cluelessly drive around. 2003: But you’d better believe that if I had a penis, it’d be a big swingin’ one. 2002: “Walmart eating ass” will be the name of my seventh novel, in case you were curious. 2001: No entry. 2000: Well, I’ve got magazines to read, and naps to take. ]]>

You’ll die from a Heart Attack during Sex.

You’re a lover not a fighter but sadly, in the act of making love your heart will stop. But what a way to go.

‘How will you die?’ at QuizGalaxy.com

* * * Last night I was sitting on the couch playing Snood (shut up! I can stop whenever I want!) and it was getting close to 11:00, so I was thinking about going to bed (after I win just one more game!), and then off in the distance I could swear I heard what sounded like Fred calling “Kittykittykitty!”, and as I turned my head to give Miz Poo a quizzical look, there started up some kitty shrieking and hissing on the front porch. My heart started pounding, and I looked at the cats, who all looked quite freaked out, and I went over to the front door where Mister Boogers was standing on his hind feet, front feet propped up on the glass on the door, peering out, and I peered out over his head and couldn’t see a damn thing. So I went over to the couch where Miz Poo was peering out the window and I peered some, but still couldn’t see anything. I flipped on the front porch light and looked some more, and still couldn’t see a thing. I went into the bedroom and got my gun (“Robyn’s got a guuuuuun!”) and went to the front door and unlocked it, then slowly opened it and peered out. Maxi and Newt were milling around on the porch looking freaked out, so I stepped out to make sure they were okay. From out of nowhere, a little white and orange cat with a stumpy little Mister Boogers tail went flying off the side of the porch and ran across the yard, throwing worried glances over his or her shoulder. I’d never seen that cat before and I don’t know if s/he belongs to someone nearby or is a stray or a dropoff or what, but it appears s/he’d gotten word that there was Free Eatin’ at the Crooked Acres front porch. I wonder if s/he’ll be back? * * * The carpet guys didn’t finish installing the carpet on Wednesday as we’d expected they would; they did all the rooms except the master bedroom, which means that we had to put Fred’s bed and dresser in his old room, and I think we’re going to just leave it there. They finished in a couple of hours yesterday morning, and at 1:30 and again at 5:00, the house was shown. No offers yet, though. Maybe over the weekend! * * * Comments: You are a Snood pusher! But try this for a change of pace. That game is evil and I am slow and stupid. And y’all can just stop blaming me for your Snood (just one more game! ONE MORE!) addictions, because as an addict, I have to spread the addiction. I cannot help it! I’m an addict! * * * Robyn, I just thought you sounded so very gentle and sweet – not like a woman who can insert the word FUCK into a sentence sixty-three different ways. I think the contrast is awesome, btw! Like a little old lady who robs banks. Except not, er, old or criminal. Ah see, that’s cool – because people are lulled into thinking I’m just a sweet gal who wouldn’t hurt a fly and then – BAM! – the obscenities fly and they fall over in shock. I WILL rule the world, people. Count on it! * * * But you grew up in Maine, didn’t you? How long have you lived down there? Strictly speaking, I didn’t actually grow up in Maine either – I grew up kind of all over the place, though I did spend about eight years in Maine, from age 12 to age 20. People tend to think I sound like I’m from the Midwest, usually. I’ve lived in Alabama for almost 11 years – it’ll be 11 years on August 13th, actually. * * * Ahh, but when you close your eyes at night, do you see Snood games in your mind? I see those fucking blue Snood guys who look like Grover from Sesame Street at night when I close my eyes, personally, but at least I don’t have Snood dreams. Those would drive me nuts! * * * Garbage pick up twice a week? I can’t imagine such a thing. How much did you pay for trash pick up? Were your bins very small? Do people really produce that much trash in residential areas that makes two pick ups a week make sense? WHAT IS GOING ON IN ALABAMA? I guess we’re just trashy people! I don’t know how much we pay for trash pickup, because I just pay my water bill (which includes the trash pickup) and don’t ask any questions. I know I’ve noticed the amount before and I can’t swear to this, but I think we pay around $10 a month. One of the up sides to living in a yuppie ‘burb, I guess. * * * Ok, is it just me…. why on earth would anyone hypnotize a chicken? I think just because it can be done. Google on “hypnotizing chickens” and see the huge number of sites that come up. Don’t ask me – I’m sure I’ll watch Fred do it, but as for doing it myself, I have no desire. * * * Oh, and I have to send you hate daggers because of Snood. After reading about it on your site several times, I had to go google it and download the free copy. Of course you only get so many games with the free download, so I have no more medium level games left, grr. I’m stuck playing easy because the hard is just too, well…hard! I assume you broke down and registered, or is there a way to get more than one free copy? DO tell, PLEASE!! I must have downloaded the Old Skool Snood, because I never ran into a problem with the number of games I’d played. However, I did finally suck it up and register last week, because I figure if I’m spending that much time playing the game, it’s worth the money. * * * I was wondering if you have been watching Dirt? Don’t know why I asked that after this entry, but it hit me I think because of the ending last night on the season finale. If you haven’t been watching… you soooo gotta check it out. I’ve seen one episode of the show, but didn’t keep DVRing it because I just didn’t have time to add more shows to my regular viewing schedule. I may give it a try when the first season comes out on DVD, or catch it in reruns (I’m sure they’ll be showing it in reruns!). Did you hear me cursing you at 3 am last Saturday night? I hadn’t played Snood in quite a while, I see your post and think “self, why not go take a look”. Well, now they have Snood Slide!! I didn’t sleep all weekend! “Oh! DAMNIT! One more game!” should be tattooed on my forehead. I’m the queen of “one more game!” * * * What’s up with the spud moving to rhode island? I thought she was going to community college and living with you and fred? I thought that as well, until a few weeks ago when she asked Fred if her SAT scores would be used in Rhode Island at all. Fred told her “yes”, and then she went back to her room, and Fred went back to brushing her teeth and I blinked and said “Has she said anything to you about going to college in Rhode Island?”, and he shrugged and said “Nope”, and my head exploded from the frustration I felt at the utter LACK of curiosity men feel when any other woman would have been all “What the hell? What’s going on? Why’d she ask that?” I went over to the spud’s bedroom and talked to her, and she informed me that she’d decided she was going to go to Rhode Island to live with her father and his wife, and go to college up there. I did not get all pushy and “You can’t do that! You have to stay here and go to college!”, but I kinda wanted to. A few days later she told Fred that she was going to stay in Alabama until the end of the year. Which was FINE with me – if I were the one making the choice, she’d be doing her first two years of college here, while living at home. But upon further questioning, she told Fred that she wasn’t planning on enrolling in college here, which is when I told her that if she was planning on staying here after August and living with us, she needed to be going to college. This, as you can imagine, went over like a lead balloon, and the spud said she’d be out by August. Then she probably logged on to MySpace and wrote about what an evil, unfeeling, horrid bitch her mother is, I’m sure. (That’s what I would have done when I was her age, had computers existed in any kind of user-friendly form.) I know many of you are champing at the bit to say “But Robyn, that’s ridiculous! Why can’t she – Why can’t you – Why don’t you – Why doesn’t she –“, and you’re certainly welcome to do so, but be aware that I’ll be ignoring your advice. Love you! Mean it! So over the past few weeks, we’ve started going out to dinner on Wednesday evenings, she and I, and in the course of said dinners we’ve discussed her plans and you know, she’s a smart kid and she seems to have some fairly solid plans going on. My mother’s concern is that (1) The spud will go to Rhode Island and never attend/ drop out of college and (2) go on a spending spree with the college money. I was a little worried she’d go to Rhode Island and decide not to go to college or drop out too, but I’ve asked her several times in very subtle ways (“You’re not going to go to Rhode Island and NOT GO TO COLLEGE, ARE YOU?!”) and she’s promised me (I made her promise, but didn’t insist on a pinkie swear) that she will, indeed, go to college. Plus, her father and stepmother obviously want to see the child get a good education, so I’m sure they’ll encourage her to go. As for the money – like I’d turn over thousands of dollars in college money to an 18 year-old so she could spend 83 hours doing nothing but playing Snood? (Shaddup. I’m not 18 anymore. I can quit whenever I want. I can! Just one more game!) No, the college money will be going directly to the college to pay for the courses the spud will be taking – that’s what it’s for, to pay for tuition, not to pay for party time (not that I’m all that concerned that she’d be wanting to fund a Keg! For! Everyone!, really) or a case of Ramen noodles. That’s what we told her when she first started asking about college, that we would pay for state-level tuition (if she wants to go to Harvard, she’s on her own) and she’d be responsible for her living costs and books. I think that’s fair, and you might not, but that’s okay, you don’t have to agree. You get to do what you like with your own kids, and I promise I won’t try to tell you a better way to do it. * * * Settling in for the night. That’s Fricasee on the right, Flappy McGee on the left, and one of the Buff Orpingtons in the middle. * * * Previously 2006: I am absolutely the last person on Earth you want in the vicinity if there’s an emergency. 2005: Questions answered. 2004: I am absolutely stunned that… I frankly couldn’t give less of a shit. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: I have to wonder, what the hell do all you skinny people do? 2000: Yes, this is a lame, short entry, but since y’all love me, you’ll be back. Right?]]>

* * * I totally need to take some more pictures of the chicks. They’re growing a lot – every day I go in to check on them, I swear they’ve gotten visibly bigger than the day before. The suspected rooster, Fricasee, cracks me up with his big puffy cheeks and the way he comes running over to see just what the hell I think I’m doing. Fred’s been working on the chicken coop and it’s coming along nicely. It amazes me that he can build things like a woodshed and a chicken coop because if things were left up to me, we’d probably have a piece of wood propped on two (shaky) sticks for the chickens to live in. Speaking of the chicken coop, last night Fred was in Smallville and we went for a short walk around the property to figure out where we want the new burn pile to go (since the old burn pile is really too close to where the chicken coop is going to be) and Fred pointed to the concrete slab (where one day there will be a deck) and told me to go see what Maxi was playing with. Turns out Maxi had found herself a desiccated frog and was chewing on it. Guh. I won’t even bring up the fact that over the weekend Newt caught himself a little mole and was bringing it to the front porch, and when Fred went over to see what Newt had, Newt dropped it and rolled around in the dirt, and Fred found that the mole was still alive a little bit. NATURALLY he called me over to see, and I whined and begged, but he wouldn’t put the damn thing out of its misery, just let Newt keep it. I don’t know where the mole ended up, but I never did see it on the front porch.

* * * Last week I went out and bought a Litter Locker Plus at the pet store. In Smallville, the trash is only collected once a week (as opposed to twice a week in Madison), and it’s a couple of guys, one driving the truck, the other opening the trash cans, grabbing the bags and tossing them in the back of the truck (as opposed to Madison, where the truck drives up, two arms come out of the side of the truck, grab the trash can, lift and empty it, and set it back down). So the Madison routine I’d gotten into, of cleaning out the litter box twice a day, dumping the clumps of litter into a small bag, and tossing it into the garbage can, is something that just won’t work in Smallville. The trash guys won’t take trash that isn’t in a trash bag. So I went out and bought a Litter Locker, and I took it home and took it out of the box and set it up, and I read on the directions that it could store up to two months’ worth of cat waste. Now, I knew there was no way on earth that the waste for two months from our six cats would fit inside that container, there was no way on earth. I did, however, think that maybe a week’s worth would fit, and I could empty it every Wednesday evening in preparation for the trash guys’ Thursday morning visit. Know how many days I was able to use it before I had to empty it? Three days. Our cats are some pooping and peeing motherfuckers, that’s for sure. * * * I think I need this kid around to take care of Crackhead Bob, should he break into the house. (Thank you to my bebbe, who sent me the link.) * * * Comments: You have a nice radio voice, Robyn. I hate hearing the sound of my voice. What do you think when you hear the sound of your voice? I usually hate the sound of my own voice, actually, but I listened to the podcast and didn’t think I sounded all that bad. Actually what I thought was “Wow, my voice sounds pretty clear!”, which amazed me, because I for some reason I always think it’s hard for other people to understand what I’m saying. Maybe because it always sounds like “Dub a duh? Dub a duh!” in my own ears. You know, I bet you and/or Fred could build some of that cat furniture. Structurally, it doesn’t look all that different from the stuff you’d get at Petco. Whether you’d want to is another matter, of course. I actually do intend to build some sort of simple cat platform thingy, at some point. Every time Fred cuts a piece of wood, I grab the scrap and say “I’ll save this for the cat furniture!” Whether it actually happens – or, I should say, whether it actually ends up as a half-decent piece of furniture that will hold the weight of the cats – who knows? Have you tried to hypnotize the chicks yet? It really does work – it’s just, well..bizarre I have not. I think we all know that if anyone around here is going to hypnotize the chicks, it won’t be me. I’m surprised Fred hasn’t given it a try yet, though. Maybe he just doesn’t want to traumatize the chicks. I wonder if your cats are thinking that you and Fred are divorcing. The trauma they must be going through, the scarring of their little kitty minds! Oh, the horror! (Just kidding) It’s funny, yesterday I knew Fred was coming to Smallville, so I said to Sugarbutt “Daddy’s coming for visitation! Daddy’s coming to visit his boys, aren’t you excited? If you’re good, maybe he’ll take you out for ice cream and to the playground!” I don’t know what they think is going on, but they’re usually happy to see him, except for Spanky who runs and hides from him. I think Spanky’s forgotten the face of his father. GREY’S ANATOMY SPOILER; SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN LAST WEEK’S EPISODE I can’t stand Izzy anymore. My prediction is that Izzy turns up pregnant by George in the season finale. Oh yes, HOW could I have forgotten that obvious possibility? Let’s all watch Izzy as she screams at George that she can’t possibly give up another child. Let’s all watch George as he struggles with the idea of being a father and having to tell Callie. Let’s all watch Izzy have a miscarriage. If I were a Grey’s Anatomy writer, I’d totally have Izzy feel under the weather for an episode or two just to fuck with the viewers. * * * The carpet guys finally showed up and now they’re upstairs making a lot of noise. I guess they’re ripping up the old carpet. There are two of them. TWO. When we had the living room and stairs done, there were four guys here. Two guys are going to do the entire house? This will be interesting to see. One of the guys strongly resembles Jason Ritter. They’re doing a lot of coughing up there. I can only imagine how much cat hair must be flying around as they pull up the carpet. I hope they get hazard pay. * * * Tommy in a box! * * * Previously 2006: Whereupon Nick Stokes, Ace Detective and CSI Genius jumps in and says, a dark scowl upon his face, “What is that, some kind of nickname?” 2005: Because there’s nothing worse than having your eyes scooped out with a spork when you’re not quite dead yet, believe you me. 2004: No entry. 2003: Your “shit” discussion is now over. You may move on. 2002: “Momma!” he cried “Momma, I’ll be good! Let me in Momma, let me in!” 2001: “Owowowowowow,” I whined, hand over my eye, and then stomped my foot in frustration. 2000: When I saw it in the theater, the ending so disturbed me that I sobbed all the way home from the movie theater.]]>